Whenever, Wherever
by Envious Yet
Summary: America has a crush on Spain. In fact, it might be love. So, really, it's a good thing that her new best friend is Lovina. Spain/Fem!US, Prussia/Fem!Romano, FrUK, GerIta
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **_Whenever, Wherever  
><em>**Chapter: **_1/?  
><em>**Characters: **_Fem!America, Fem!Romano, Spain, Prussia, France, England, N. Italy, Germany, other countries.  
><em>**Pairings: **_Spain/Fem!America, Prussia/Fem!Romano, France/England, Germany/Italy  
><em>**Rating:** _T_  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>_Language, sexual innuendo (this story does have France, Spain and Prussia in it), kissing in the future, possible historical innaccuracy, my limited knowledge of past and present politics.  
><em>**A/N: **_I wrote this on a whim, really. For some reason the couple Spain/America really interests me, and I have a particular liking for Fem!America. Plus, I believe that in any world, America and Romano could be really good friends. (Or lovers, but that's a whole new pairing :)) This chapter is not heavy on the romance, but soon there will be a lot of one-sided crushing and later, plenty of kisses. For now, though, I have to get the plot (?) and characters set up. I do apologize for possible OOCness, but I firmly believe that Fem!America and Fem!Romano's personalities would differe a bit from their male selves. I apologize also for possible spelling and grammer mistakes, don't be afraid to point them out! _

**Monday, 2:00 pm **

America rushed to the meeting room, pulling on her black kitten heels as she did so. She huffed, angry not only at herself, but also at the stupid officials that were making her late. No doubt the others were complaining already, even though she was only about… oh, like twenty minutes late.

Finally, the rest of her usual uniform was on and America was at the door to the G8 Meeting Room. The young country straightened her clothing one last time, patting blonde curls out of her face, before opening the door a crack, and wincing at the sudden silence beyond the doors. Then, she rushed in.

"Um, I'm really, really sorry I'm late," America said, attempting a smile at Germany's stern expression and avoiding England's livid green gaze entirely, "My government kind of held me up."

Germany's stiff features softened slightly in understanding, and the others relaxed as well. Except for England, but he didn't really count. America beamed and took her seat next to Japan, who gave her a small smile.

"What's happened so far?" She whispered to her friend.

"Not much. We were waiting for you and then most of everyone started to argue." Japan told her as politely as possible.

America rolled her amazingly heroic blue eyes and gave a little laugh, then turned her attention back to Sweden, who was giving them a rundown on his economy. France, who was sitting on her other side and next to England, nudged America in the ribs gently in order to get her attention.

"_Angleterre _is looking particularly annoyed today, is he not?" Francis whispered into her ear. America giggled under her breath, briefly meeting furious green eyes that glowed from underneath humongous eyebrows.

"Oh yes he does." She responded.

"Say, Franny," his nose wrinkled at the nickname, "Do you love Iggy?"

Francis glanced at her sharply, eyebrows furrowing his gorgeous face as disbelief fluttered over his expression. "What? You think I _love_ the crazy sconehead over there? You must be mad."

America laughed quietly and rolled her eyes again, "I didn't _say_ you loved him, Franny, I _asked_ you if you did."

Francis put his nose in the air, "Well, if that's the case, then no, I don't." His mouth lifted at the corners after the clarification and he gave the young country a look. "Why? Do you feel the sudden passion of love flowing through your veins, my dear _Amérique_?"

America's cheeks flushed a little, and she refused to meet his gaze. "Of course not!" She exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "I was just wondering because Gilbert said that the only reason you and Iggy argue so much is because of sexual tension."

France pursed his perfect lips, but decided not to press her for the moment.

"_Mon chéri, _you should never listen to what Gilbert has to say about anything. If he could, he would convince the world that he, Hungary, and Austria were in a _ménage à trois_."

America giggled again at the thought of that, then glanced at the ridiculously awesome man in question. Prussia was sitting, doodling on a piece of paper while his eyes twitched around spastically, searching for something to do. When he caught her looking at him, eyes sparkling with leftover mirth, he winked and sent her a kiss. America made a catching motion with her hand and then smacked it to her cheek, winking back.

Gilbert's red eyes gleamed and suddenly he was scribbling down a sentence on the paper. He folded it up pointedly, before setting it on the table. Assuring himself that Germany, England and Switzerland were not looking, he flicked it towards her.

'_This is the most boring meeting ever. My awesome self should not have to sit through it. What were you talking about with Francis?'_

America picked up Japan's extra pencil, sending him a wide beam for his troubles. The other country smiled back weakly and fingered the pencil he still held.

'_I know, right? As a heroine, I should be able to go out and defeat the forces of evil without being interrupted by stupid world meetings. We were talking about Iggy, actually. I mentioned what you said about their fights and he was quite… against it, really.'_

She flicked the note back, although not before checking the room like he had. Mattie was staring at her with a confused gleam in his eye and she smiled at him. Her twin brother gave a small smile back, and then his eyes flicked to where Prussia was writing her a note in reply. America shrugged and the Canadian nation rolled his violet eyes.

'_Oh, please. That's all denial. The looks they send each other scream sexual tension. And you know that France doesn't go halfway with these things. Also, have you noticed the weirdness that is this meeting?'_

'_Weirdness? What do you mean?'_

'_Belarus is sitting between Russia and Lithuania, something that hasn't been done since that one meeting when… things went wrong. Not to mention Romana is here too.'_

At the mention of the fiery Italian, America glanced around the room and spotted her sitting next to Feliciano with her arms folded underneath her (rather ample, really) chest. Romana didn't notice her staring, which was good because the girl might take it the wrong way. It was odd, however, that she was at the meeting at all, because usually Romana simply sent Feli in her place and didn't bother to come.

'_Wow that is kind of weird. I wonder why she bothered to come…'_

Prussia was about to write back when Germany stood up, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. The large man cleared his throat, plainly ignoring the way Italy played with a loose string on his pants.

"It has come to my attention that it is about time for the 100 year ball," Germany started, ignoring the groan that rose around the room, "As you may or may not know, every 100 years since a very long time ago, there has been a ball held in honor of every nation. You _must _go. At this ball you are expected to wear nice clothing, as it _is _a black tie event. You may bring a date, as long as it is someone from your government or another country. Your boss and his family will also attend the ball. There will be excellent security, of course. The ball is in two Saturdays, and it begins at 6:00 pm. It is being held at an undisclosed location, but your bosses will tell you soon enough."

The grumbles around the room continued, but some countries seemed excited. America was excited herself, and gripped Japan's arm with a squeal. Japan tried to ignore the flare of pain that came from her strong fingers, and managed to smile at his friend while she bounced in her seat.

"Oh, Kiku," America shrieked gleefully, "This is going to be so much fun! Don't you think?"

Unable to deny the cute tilt of her head and the way wheat colored hair fell into sky blue eyes, Japan nodded and patted her arm gently. America beamed at him.

Germany, unfortunately, found himself incapable of gaining the countries' attention back, and sat down with a weary sigh, only to be met with Feliciano's ecstatically happy face.

"Ve, Ludwig," the Italian nation started, "We should go together!" Ludwig almost, _almost_ choked on his own spit, but managed to control himself. Barely.

"I don't think that is a very good idea." He told his 'best friend' firmly. But this did not deter Feliciano, who promptly started jabbering on about ball plans, and _would Ludwig like him to wear a dress_?

Germany could tell this was going to be a really long two weeks.

America sighed from where she was sitting, dreaming about the wonderful dress she was going to wear. France was arguing with England next to her about nothing at all, and Japan was talking quietly with China about formal wear for the occasion. America frowned. Everyone sounded like they knew exactly how to dress, and to be honest, America really didn't. She had only been to one ball before, after all, in 1912, seeing as how the year previous she was immersed in war and the years before that she had been far too young.

America decided, then and there, that she would need help with dressing, refining her manners, and learning how to properly dance for the occasion, as the last ball had been nothing short of a disaster. Normally she would go to Iggy for something like this, or even Francis, but the problem with them was that they were… male. America figured that in order to be completely sure she was getting sound advice and wearing what she should be wearing; going to another woman would be for best.

The problem with the other countries was that there were very few women. Only Hungary, Liechtenstein, Romana, Belgium, Vietnam, Belarus, Ukraine, Seychelles, Monaco, Taiwan, America, and a few others were female out of the many countries that inhabited the earth. At the moment, America's options were limited to those at the meetings, which included Hungary, Liechtenstein, Romana, Belarus, Ukraine, Taiwan, and Vietnam. Belgium hadn't made the meeting, Wy was too small to come, Seychelles was obviously getting her information from France, and America wasn't sure where Monaco was.

Although she was on good terms with most of the female countries at the meetings, she was not close friends with any of them. Hungary was pleasant to her, but they had never really spoken on a more than a mildly friendly basis. Liechtenstein was sweet, but she was sweet to everyone and America wasn't sure Switzerland would even be okay with having his darling little sister talking to such a big, scary power like her. She and Belarus were on good terms, and on the occasion even had lunch together like real friends, but it appeared the other nation was rather enraptured with her brother at the moment, and America didn't want to impose on that. Ukraine was nice, but was immersed in keeping her sister from murdering the next person to touch Russia. Taiwan and Vietnam were also friendly with America, but the young nation still didn't feel comfortable around them enough to go shopping or share her ignorance. At one point in time, America and Vietnam had been extremely close, but that time was past. Sometimes, though, a pang of longing for the other girl would strike her and America would find herself calling the other. In times like that, the two would talk for hours like old friends, regardless of political the situation. But now was not that time, and Vietnam was laughing at something Hong Kong had said, so America decided to leave them alone for the moment.

That left Romana. America and Romana were, in truth, hardly acquainted with each other. North Italy was around more often, and Romana had the kind of personality that warded people away. Personally, that had never deterred America before, but she wasn't even sure the other country would _want _to talk to her.

The blonde girl gazed at the other nation as she glared at Spain's (endearing) antics and ignored the incessant pestering of Feliciano. In fact, America would say her expression came close to loneliness hidden by a mask of irritation.

On the upside, Romana _was_ Italian, and therefore had a wonderful sense of fashion. Although they had never truly spoken, it was possible they had a lot in common, and nasty personality disorders never quelled America's desire for friendship (see: England). Besides, the older girl could potentially be very nice once her walls came down. Mattie had always said America was about 10 times less annoying once you wormed your way into her inner circle and, therefore, her calmer, more subdued moments.

Squaring slender shoulders that were packed beneath the thick leather of her jacket and the rough kaki of her uniform, America made her way to the other woman slowly but surely, arriving just on time to catch Romana before she left the room in a huff. Italy was distracted by Germany, who appeared his rather reluctant entertainer, and Spain was chatting with Prussia. America smiled at Romana as she caught the arm of the other nation. Romana raised a perfectly plucked brown eyebrow in response.

"What?" She asked sharply, though not too impolitely. After all, America hadn't pissed her off yet.

"Well, I was wondering…" America trailed off a bit, unsure about how to go with this. She hadn't exactly thought this through (Mattie and Iggy were always telling her to do that, one less violently than the other), and there was a chance that Romana would laugh at her…

"Well?" The other girl asked again, glaring a little.

"Um… wouldyougoshoppingwithme?" America blurted out in one go, still clinging to Romana's arm.

"Would I what?" Romana questioned, eyebrows crinkling in the middle. America took a deep breath. Time to get this over with.

"Would you go shopping with me? Please?" At the other nation's confused, if still angry look, she elaborated, "For this ball thing, I mean. See, I've only been to one before, and I'm pretty sure I did everything incorrectly. I don't want to do that again, but you've been to many and I know you can help me! Plus, you're super stylish!" America looked at her with glittering blue eyes.

Romana pursed her lips and appeared to contemplate it, even though the ego stroking had already convinced her to help the younger nation. That, and the fact that Romana had been planning to go shopping alone, which wasn't nearly as fun as going with someone else. Even if it was America.

Finally, she crossed her arms and nodded once. "We go tomorrow at 11:00 am sharp. Don't be late and meet me in the lobby of the hotel."

America beamed, white teeth gleaming in the bright light of the conference room, and she flung her arms around Romana's middle, pinning the Italian nation's arms to her side.

"Thank you!" She cried in excitement, and bounced a little while still holding the other girl. Romana roughly shoved her away, not that America took notice. With one last beam, the blonde girl took off in the other direction, attaching herself to a blond male who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Really, Romana had no idea who he was. Looked an awful lot like America, though.

Then, with one last glance at her younger brother, Romana left the room, already dreading what would come the next day.

"Mattie!" America squealed, wrapping her arms around her twin brother's neck as she forced him to give her a piggyback ride. Canada slumped a little under her sudden weight, but nevertheless hooked his arms under her thighs and hoisted her up.

"Yes?" He asked in a weary, yet amused, tone.

"Tomorrow I'm going shopping for a dress with someone!" His sister exclaimed happily, nuzzling her face into his neck.

Matthew ignored the feeling of her nose rubbing down his jugular, and questioned, "Who?" As far as he knew, America had never gone _shopping_ with anyone before. His sister was not prone to do girlish things.

"Romana, you know, South Italy. I did it on a whim, really," America babbled as she tightened her hold on him and straightened her back a little, "But she said yes, so I was happy."

"Romana?" Matthew asked, surprised because he hadn't been aware that America and the other half of Italy were on such good terms. "Well, that's good I suppose. Have fun." He smiled at her by turning his head a little in order to catch her gaze.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure it'll be tons of fun, Mattie." America said. She hopped down from his back and grabbed his cold hand in one of her warm ones.

"Yeah, Al, I'm sure. That reminds me, though; I should really get my suit dry-cleaned." He said as an afterthought, following his sister out of the room, their hands still attached.

"You should buy a new one! It _is_ a special occasion, and who's to say that old thing will still fit you, anyway? Actually, you know what, I'll buy you one. Don't worry about it." Al said firmly, tightening her grip around her brother's hand.

"Al," Matthew started weakly, "Your economy…" He trailed off at the sharp tug of her hand on his.

Her blue eyes turned to his violet ones, and they were glaring fiercely, "It'll be from my own private stores, Mattie, so don't worry about it." Once again, her voice was resolute and her grip offered no relief.

Then, with a 'heroine's grin' America spun and raised a fist to the air, "No worries because Alianora F. Jones has everything under control!" She shouted, rather loudly, to the world. Mattie resisted the urge to facepalm if only because one of his hands was still captured in hers (the one that she had raised, actually, putting him in a rather awkward position) and the other was waving about in an attempt to keep his balance.

**Tuesday, 10:30 am**

Al rushed around the hotel room she was sharing with Mattie, fresh faced from having just taken a shower and ready for a day of shopping with Romana. Her stomach, luckily, was full with pancakes coated in maple syrup from Mattie and delicious bacon she had cooked herself.

The world meeting this year was being held in Dublin, Ireland. America had hopped on a jet as soon as the government was done talking with her the previous day, wearing comfortable clothes for the long plane ride. She had fallen asleep and therefore forgotten to change into the required uniform for the meetings, ending in her fumbling to put it on with all the silly buttons and patches. At least she could be comfortable in her jacket.

Today, though, America had set her alarm for nine so she could sleep until 9:30, then have breakfast and take a shower before leaving for the lobby. She had a feeling Romana would leave without her if she was even a minute late, and the blonde nation did _not_ want that.

As she was leaving, at exactly 10:55, Al gave Mattie a kiss on the cheek and three thousand dollars in cash for his suit. His sweet, cute, adorable little face paled at the sight of so much money, but Al pointedly refused to take any back until she saw him in his dashing suit.

While in the elevator, America briefly panicked, wondering if she should have worn makeup, but in the end vetoed the idea entirely. She had never worn it excessively before, usually saving it for special occasions, and what was the point in starting now? The doors opened at 10:57 and Al saw Romana in the lobby, lips pursed and wearing casual clothing.

Bouncing over to her new friend, America gave the other girl a bright smile. Romana nodded with approval at her timing.

"Let's get going."

And so they did, walking the pretty streets of Dublin on a surprisingly sunny day, and holding a comfortable silence. America, predictably, broke the silence first.

"I wanted to thank you for agreeing, Romana. I know we don't know each other that well, but…" She trailed off and bit her lip, looking shyly over to where the slightly taller nation (it might have just been the beautiful high heels Romana was wearing) was walking.

Features sharpening into a familiar glare, the Italian sent her a look, but it softened at the unnaturally hushed demeanor of the other. "You're welcome, I guess," Romana said, looking away as red colored her cheeks, "But I don't understand _why _you asked me, weirdo."

America's featured brightened, and she completely disregarded the insulting nickname. Romana was famous for them, after all. In fact, she called many people much more insulting things than 'weirdo.' Germany was dubbed 'potato bastard,' Feliciano was often 'idiot,' and 'bitch' was reserved for female _or_ male countries who really pissed her off. _Vaffanculo_ was also often heard spouting out of her mouth, or other Italian insults.

"You're Italian," Al offered, "So you must have great style. And besides, I don't know you that well. But I'd like to."

Romana stiffened at the kind words, thinking. It was not often that other countries _wanted_ to be her friend. If it was a necessary political union, they would often just go to Feliciano, who would, in turn, appeal to her. Women like Hungary or Ukraine were far too different from her to gather much attention, and male countries either thought she was a bitch or pissed her off. America, though, while having never openly expressed a wish for friendship, had always been quite amiable, as she was with most everyone. Romana always figured that her nasty temper kept the superpower from paying too strict attention to the likes of her, being that she was only really _half_ a country anyways.

But, it seemed that the other only really needed a _reason_ to begin talking to someone, to begin the slow steps that lead to a trusted friendship. Because they lived for so long, relationships of any kind between two countries lasted either a lifetime or an era before they were marred by war, death, political issues, or other. Even families, Romana reflected, were split by the cruel hands of time. America knew that all too well.

"I guess I'd like to, also." Romana finally responded. America's steps immediately lightened into skips out of delight.

"In that case," the superpower said, her eyes sparkling brilliantly in sun, "You can call me Al. My full name is Alianora F. Jones, but Al is just fine. What's your name, Romana?"

Romana stared for a moment, taken aback by the other nation's sudden explosion of friendliness. Calling her Al? Giving out her human name? It was something you did with someone you were really close with. To be perfectly honest, though, Romana didn't even care. It was nice to have a friend.

"Lovina Vargas." She said shortly, trying to suppress the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks. Lovina had always blushed easily; far too easily for her tastes, and it was something that made Antonio teased her about every day. But for now it was okay, because she had a feeling _Al_ had several embarrassing traits herself to make up for Lovina's own discomfiture.

* * *

><p><em>ends at kind of an awkward place, but I'm quite happy with it. Also, I chose 'Alianora' for America's name because a) it gives me access to the nickname Al, and b) it is a form of Eleanor, which is old-fashioned (and therefore sounds like something England would name her) and is also quite American, in a sense (Eleanor Roosevelt). <em>


	2. Chapter 2

******A/N: **_Came out with this pretty soon, luckily (I can be really bad with updates), and I promise that next chapter we'll get some Spain, and probably even some Prussia up in here! Although I'm starting to wonder if maybe I SHOULD switch the characters to America and Romano, because really, a lot of it is about them for the moment. But don't worry, tons of romance and kissing will come later, along with wonderful fluff. I hope you don't think I've pushed Lovina and Al's relationship forward too fast, I'll elaborate on their rather sudden acceptance of each other later, and they're going to get tons more bonding time, too. Hopefully next chapter there will also be GerIta and FrUK fluff, too. I apologize for any grammatical and/or spelling errors. Also, I forgot this in the last chapter but I don't own Hetalia._

**Chapter 2**

**Tuesday, 1:00 pm**

They had been at the mall for only a few hours so far, and most of it had been spent dallying around and trying to find a store that seemed appropriate. Ireland was beautiful, of course, but it was unfamiliar, and getting acquainted with the layout of the local mall was important to Lovina. _Al_ was surprisingly pleasant company, if slightly irritating at times.

The other girl had a loud laugh and a perpetually bright attitude, but Lovina was used to that sort of spirit because of Antonio and Feliciano. Al could be slightly insensitive, if only out of obliviousness, but Lovina was sure she could slap that out of America eventually. The blonde haired, blue eyed nation liked to talk, about nothing and everything, and _certainly _liked to eat. She had very little sense of style, usually wearing ridiculously boyish clothing that did nothing for what Lovina was sure was a wonderful figure. Al was also keen on touching and hugging and all sorts of other things Romana was not normally comfortable with (even with the years of practice she had).

However, the other nation had many redeeming qualities. America was endlessly kind—through all her political discrepancies (after all, no government was perfect, and they hardly ever listened to the actual _personification's_ opinion on the matter), the young girl seemed to enjoy helping people and doled out compliments as she saw fit. Lovina did worry that it made Al a little blunt (for insults came just as easily), but _she _wasn't exactly tactful either, and figured that there was really no use in lying to stupid, ugly people who probably hated the world for making them so stupid and ugly anyways.

Al was also a bit of a spitfire, something Lovina admired greatly, and carried a gun on her at all times (as the Italian nation learned from the excessive jabbering), plus she knew how to throw a mean punch (this _everyone_ knew from that one time with Russia, those several times with France and Prussia, and then poor Estonia when he scared America by popping out of nowhere).

But Lovina's favorite thing about her new friend was probably her willingness to learn. America had adapted to many cultures before, as her people came from many different places, and while aspects of those cultures had been 'Americanized,' it was really rather understandable. After all, ideas traveling across countries often had to be fitted to that country's desires, and America was no different. It probably didn't help that the girl seemed to be stuck in her late teens to early twenties. Lovina herself would be considered the human age of anywhere from 20 to 29, depending on how she dressed and acted. Her official age, however, something she chose not to think about all too often.

They arrived at a store that had potential, and Al lead the way in, still chatting up a storm. Lovina listened with one ear, something she had picked up from long hours of cooking with Feliciano, and glanced around. There were dresses lining one side and more casual clothing on the other. Everything was quite stylish and appropriate, so Romana didn't leave immediately.

"It looks like we found the place!" America exclaimed enthusiastically, pumping a fist into the air to complete the pure heroicness of her pose. Lovina rolled hazel eyes at her optimism.

"We'll see," the other nation said skeptically, "This place might not have dresses good enough for us." Lovina held herself, and her friends, in very high esteem when it came to clothing. A dress that was 'adequate' would just not do at all. If the American did not think so, well, Lovina would just have to change her mind.

The two began to flit through the dresses, which were neatly lined up on racks. They were obviously looking for something long, maybe glamorous, and certainly flattering. Normally Lovina would not have cared a bit about what Al dressed in, but now that she was practically the girl's mentor when it came to fashion (for the moment, at least), she was determined to make America look absolutely stunning. Of course, Lovina herself would also look amazing, but that was a given.

The dresses were nice enough, so she selected a few to try on, and noticed that America had done the same. They turned to each other and Lovina nodded toward the dressing room. Al grabbed her hand, ignoring the irritated blush that appeared on Lovina's cheeks at the action, and half-dragged the other nation with her.

The dressing room was elegant, which surprised Al for some reason (obviously, American dressing rooms weren't on par). They chose rooms next to each other and Lovina lined up the three dresses she had to try on in front of her.

One was green and strapless, another was a fiery red, and the last was a light cream. She loved the look of the cream colored one, but tried on the red one first, regardless.

Al was also trying on three dresses. Her first was a silvery gray, the second a rich purple, and the last turquoise. She enjoyed dresses that were unique, and could only hope Lovina would approve. For all Al knew, all three dresses were way off mark from what was expected.

Lovina stepped out in the red dress, admiring herself with a critical eye in the long mirror hanging outside of the rooms.

"Are you ready yet?" Lovina called, allowing a tint of annoyance to color her voice.

"Almost!" Al said, before opening the dressing room door and stepping out in the silvery gray dress.

The two girls studied each other with admiration, fascination, and skepticism. Lovina, in particular, prepared herself to turn the dress down and explain exactly why it was wrong.

"So, how do I look?" America asked, a tad nervously, fingering the side of her dress.

"It doesn't look bad on you," Romana started, knowing that straight up criticism would get her nowhere, "But it also doesn't do much for you. The color doesn't make you glow, like a _real_ dress should, and the shape doesn't flatter you well enough to be satisfying. Plus," she pointed out, "It's a little too long."

Al's cheeks splattered with a light pink as she looked down to where the edge of the dress was dragging on the ground. Then she looked up and nodded.

"Alright, thanks Lovina."

Lovina stared at herself in the mirror. "Admittedly, this dress doesn't do much for me, either." She commented, gaining bright smile from her new friend. "Let's go try on the others."

In the end, all of the dresses were rejected. They spent some time looking for another store and tried on clothing there also, but to no avail. Eventually, Al said she was hungry, and Lovina agreed—shopping really took it out of a person. They went into the mall's 'typical Irish pub' at America's insistence (Lovina would have preferred somewhere that sold more things with tomatoes). Al ordered the Shepard's Pie and a ginger ale, and Lovina got a stew with potatoes and beef.

"So, uh, I wanted to thank you for helping me," Al started, looking at Romana through light lashes, "It really means a lot."

Lovina's cheeks turned red, although, luckily, the dim lighting in the pub masked that.

"You don't have to thank me, weirdo. I had to go shopping too, you know, and going shopping alone is no fun. Besides, you looked like you could really use the help." There was no way Lovina was admitting to kind of enjoying the other nation's company.

Al just shook her head, blonde curls swirling around in the air, and laughed that infamous loud laugh of hers. It was obnoxious, but Lovina was used to obnoxious. It didn't bother her much, and she really couldn't understand why the other nations complained so much about something so… insignificant. If you wanted to complain about weird laughs, listen to Russia or Prussia's.

Their food and drinks arrived with the wide smile of a bushy-haired Irish woman, and they dug in. Lovina was surprised by how much she liked the food, despite the inherent lack of tomatoes.

"What's your favorite color?" Al asked suddenly (without swallowing first, Lovina noticed with disgust. That, too, would have to change).

Taken aback by the question, Romana raised an eyebrow, "Why do you want to know, weirdo?"

Al gave her a goofy grin, "Because friends know all sorts of things about each other, and so I figured we might as well start with the basics, right?"

Lovina blinked her pretty hazel eyes. America was serious about wanting to be friends. Real names, shopping, and eating lunch together aside, Lovina hadn't expected the other girl to be so persistent and sincere about acquiring her friendship. Nevertheless, it was nice to be appreciated in such a way, so Lovina answered.

"Red. Red is my favorite color."

"Why?"

"Tomatoes are red, and tomatoes are the best." Lovina said. It was a bit haughty, but Al didn't seem bothered in the least. Instead, she glowed with joy.

Loudly, but eagerly, the other girl exclaimed, "Wow! Now I know two things about you!" She clapped her hands together happily.

Lovina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but was secretly pleased. It was… kind of nice to have a friend. A _girl_ friend.

"My favorite colors are red, white, and blue." Al continued, despite not being prompted to share the information. "And my favorite food is definitely hamburgers!" Well, Lovina knew_ that_.

**Tuesday, 4:30 pm**

They were in another store, this time it obviously had clothes from all the famous American and European designers. Lovina had two dresses this time, but was extremely keen on one of them. If it looked good on her, she would definitely buy the dress. Al, meanwhile, had three to try on. Hopefully, this would be their last store and then they could go shopping for shoes.

"Ready yet, _strano_?" Lovina asked as she stood in the hallway of the dressing room. She'd decided to switch America's chosen insult to Italian, if only because speaking her native language made her happy. A couple of teenagers trying on extremely short dresses looked over at her with wide eyes and giggled. Lovina smirked.

"Yep!" The other nation stepped out.

They stared at each other.

Lovina was wearing a beautiful golden dress. It was strapless with a lovely sweetheart neckline that wrapped around her torso tightly on the top, overlapping material twisted around her hips. The slightly darker gold material was layered over lighter gold, which fanned out on the floor, allowing for a small train of material to spread out and follow her while she walked. Diamond buttons cascaded from the back and flowed around her waist in a simple, yet elegant design. It would look wonderful when she danced, and brought out both her tanned skin and the gold flecks in her eyes spectacularly.

Al, meanwhile, was wearing a light blue dress with a corset top that had pearls embedded into it in an intricate design. The skirt flowed down from there into wispy strands of icy blue material that danced around her feet. The back was particularly stunning, with a cluster of blue flowers resting just on her lower abdomen, and then ripples of the cloth flowing from that. The blue set off her eyes and golden skin tone, while the form fitted her figure gloriously.

"That's the dress." They said at the same time, staring at each other in delight. Al's eyes went wide.

"Oh, Lovi!" She shrieked, grabbing both of Lovina's hands in her own, "You look _so_ beautiful!"

"So do you." Lovina breathed, willing, just this once, to compliment someone with complete candor.

The two girls stared for a few moments longer before squealing in unison and dancing around. It was out of character for Romana, yes, but it was so very necessary at the moment. This was almost as good as tomatoes, after all.

After buying the dresses, Lovina announced that they had to go get shoes and jewelry. Al immediately wilted and turned to her new friend.

"Can we do that tomorrow? Please? I'm _sooooo_ tired." She complained, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

Lovina pursed her lips and contemplated it. She was tired as well, and they could always buy the other things another time.

"Fine," she said shortly, "But we'll have to get them Thursday because tomorrow we have that insanely long meeting. _Bastardo_." She muttered.

But Al just nodded perkily and said, "We should exchange phone numbers. That's what friends do, right?"

The tilt of her head was all it took for Lovina to give in (who, admittedly, had a fondness for cute things that _weren't_ her brother), and they did so. Then the two nations walked back to the hotel in much the same manner as they had gone there, Al rambling on about something or other while Lovina half-listened and went over a list of things to do in her head.

When they reached the hotel, though, Al gave her a hug and a kiss on both cheeks (having heard that Europeans did that sort of thing), then said a cheery goodbye before leaving for her floor. Lovina was on the first floor, and while the hug and kisses had startled her a little, they were not entirely unwelcome, although she avoided expressing affection back. Nevertheless, the day had been unexpectedly fun, and Lovina was actually looking forward to going shopping with Al again.

**Wednesday, 8:00 am**

Lovina had been pestered by her brother all Tuesday night for details on the shopping trip, but she had pointedly refused to show him her dress and elaborate further than an 'it was fun.' Feliciano had been pleased, but astonished by this admittance, and his overeager joy at her having fun was what sealed her lips for the rest of the evening.

Morning, however, was a whole different story.

Italians loved sleeping. Feliciano in particular was known for relishing a good cat nap every now and then, and both of them liked to sleep in to the afternoon. It was a trait, Lovina intoned firmly and with much irritation, that Spain had passed onto them. Unfortunately, the potato bastard, cheap cheese head, and _merda_ at cooking (Germany, Switzerland, and England) were idiotic sticklers who held the meetings at ridiculously early hours in the mornings. Even though Ireland was hosting the World Meeting this year, it seemed he still had no say in the timing.

So that was why Lovina was awake at 8:00 am in order to take a shower and be ready by 10:00. Feliciano was clinging to the last vestiges of sleep, and it was at times like this when Lovina wished the potato bastard _was_ in Feliciano's bed, if only so that he could use his amazing tactics to wake her younger brother up.

The two were mostly silent as they prepared to leave, Feliciano brushing his hair and smiling like an idiot while Lovina straightened her uniform out to perfection. Today, she added a scarf for accessory. It was red, her favorite color, and Lovina found it reminded her of Al a bit, who'd said that red was one of _her_ favorite colors as well.

Romana then realized she still had about an hour to spare, and a sudden idea struck her that was so brilliant and wonderful, she simply couldn't let it go. She would help her new friend look fabulous for the meeting, if only because she didn't want to be known as the friend of someone who dressed like _un pezzo di merda_. No, Al would have to be stylish from now on.

(Lovi~)

_I am coming up to help you with your outfit._

(Al)

_OMG really? That's so nice, Lovi! XD_

(Lovi~)

_I don't want to be seen with you if you wear nasty clothing._

(Al)

_You think my clothing is nasty? D:_

(Lovi~)

_You wear it incorrectly and it pisses me off. Trust me; you'll look much better if I take care of things._

(Al)

_Whatever you say, Lovi!_

(Lovi~)

_And don't call me that, strano!_

Lovina rode the elevator to the third floor and went to room 302, where America (and probably someone else) was staying. She wondered who was rooming with her friend, but then remembered that Al had a brother or cousin or something. It was probably him.

She knocked sharply on the door and waited. A few moments later, it opened and a young man who looked like the male version of America with violet eyes and a stray curl (it kind of reminded Lovina of her own). She recognized him, but couldn't seem to remember his name. Nevertheless, he smiled and let her in.

"I'm Canada," he said, and Lovina breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't have to ask, "And Al will be out in a minute."

"Romana." She told him, nodding shortly. Canada just smiled and bobbed his head once.

Luckily, the two were saved from being completely awkward by the arrival of Alianora, who exited the bathroom and flung herself at Lovina, wrapping strong arms around the other girl in a fierce hug.

Lovina turned red and sputtered for a bit, but didn't have time to push Al off before she was released. Face still red, she straightened her clothing out again and studied the other nation with a critical eye. Then, she sighed, for Al was dressed just as atrociously as at the meeting on Monday.

Lovina's uniform had been fitted by the best Italian tailor so that it highlighted her curves while still being appropriately modest. The male uniform had been transformed to fit her womanly body with a pencil skirt that had a small slit up both sides for leg room. Her top was the usual mass of buttons and patches, but the sleeves were cut to end at her elbows while the sweetheart neckline was lowered a bit. The shoes were black pumps, and the red scarf added a tad of color to the outfit. All in all, Lovina knew she made 'uniform' look quite good.

The same, unfortunately, could not be said for Al. Obviously, the girl hadn't bothered to get hers tailored, and the only change was the skirt (pleated and schoolgirl style) instead of pants. She also wore kitten heels, but they were beaten up by many years of wear and tear (plus, they clashed with the horribly with the buttons). The shirt was hideous, causing to make the other girl more masculine than feminine, and it hid her naturally wonderful curves. Al needed a lot of help, but Lovina could definitely give it to her.

"Come with me, we're going down to my room. I can fix you there." She grabbed Al's arm, nodded a short goodbye to the 'Canada' person and pulled her friend from the room.

"Fix me? What for? It's not that bad, right?" Al pouted, allowing Lovina to drag her out of the room.

"You will see her at the meeting." She said to Canada before slamming the door. The two girls stumbled toward the elevator, America's half-hearted protests completely ignored by Romana. Obviously, when Lovina had told her she'd be coming up to help her out, Al hadn't been expecting to be forcibly removed from her room.

When they reached the other room, Lovina hauled her new friend inside. Feliciano leapt up from where he'd been sitting and beamed, although his eyes were a little confused.

"Ve~, _sorella_, you brought America!" Feli exclaimed, clapping his hands together with delight. "_Buongiorno_, America!"

Al beamed at Lovina's younger brother and reached out to ruffle his hair affectionately.

"_Buongiorno, _Italy!" It was a little surprising that Al's Italian accent was only slightly off, but considering the amount of immigrants living in her country, perhaps it shouldn't be.

Lovina rolled her eyes, though, at their similarities (both were entirely too cheerful _all the fucking time_), and snatched the other girl's wrist, pulling her into Lovina's room at the hotel.

"So… what exactly am I doing here, Lovi?" The blonde girl asked cheerfully, glancing around the room in curiosity.

"Your outfit," Lovina started, heading towards the closet, "It's disgusting."

Al sulked at this, her bottom lip sticking out in a rather marvelous pout, "What do you mean?" She whined. "It can't be that bad, right?"

Romana bit her lip. "Well, it's not _disgusting_, but you could definitely use some improvements. Major improvements."

America wrinkled her cute, pert little nose, but finally nodded. "Alright, do what you will with me." She said with a wide grin. Lovina almost, _almost_ returned the smile, but managed to pull her lips into a pleased sort of smirk instead at the last second.

For the next forty minutes, Lovina concentrated on making her friend look like the stylish, pretty lady she knew Al could be.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_I forgot some translations from last chapter, so I'll just put them here:_

_French:  
>Angleterre - England<br>__Mon cherie - my darling  
>Menage a trois - threesome (sorry, I was too lazy to put the accents in this one XP)<em>

_Italian:__  
>Vaffanculo - fuck you, fuck off<br>__Strano - weirdo  
>Bastardo - bastard, although it can also mean mongrel or 'cocksucker' according to Word Reference<br>Un pezzo di merda - a piece of shit  
>Sorella - sister<br>__Buongiorno - Good morning, can also be written 'Buon giorno'_

_ I sincerely hope these are right, I got them from a pretty reliable sight. Speaking of reliable, I kept calling it the 'G8 meeting', but it's really the World Meeting, just to clear things up. Please review, and thank you to all those who favorited/story alerted/reviewed the last chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_Oh my god. I am so sorry you guys. This fic really got away from me. First, I was all busy with school and then I let other fandoms take over my life and stuff... really sorry, but I was just stumped with this fic. Anyways, I got it going again after reading Romerica fics and fem!America fics as much as possible. But I really am incredibly sorry. I hope this isn't too crappy because most of it was written at ungodly hours in the morning and I honestly haven't edited it that much. Please, please point out any grammatical an/or spelling errors. Also, "ruched" is a term used for sleeves and such in clothing where it's kind of scrunched up at the end. Sorry, again. All translations are at the bottom! (There might be some weird verb mistakes because the other fics I'm writing right now are all in present tense, so it was kind of hard to slip back into past tense...)_

**Chapter 3**

**Wednesday, 10:03 am **

"No, you can't wear _that_!" Lovina exclaimed with exasperation, throwing her hands into the air. Al gave her a big, puppy-eye look, but Lovina just ignored it. She had plenty of practice with that, after all, because of Antonio and Feliciano.

"Then what _should_ I wear?" Al cried, also throwing her hands into the air. Romana rolled her eyes, because obviously, Al was being ridiculous.

"_Stramba_, you need to wear something that… highlights your good features and downplays your bad ones," she answered, shrugging. For Romana, this clothing thing was easy. She honestly couldn't understand how America _didn't _understand it.

Al looked at her feet, fidgeting and biting her lip. Her cheeks grew a shade darker.

"I don't think I _have_ any good features," the poor young nation admitted, making Lovina narrow her eyes with trepidation and anger.

"Who told you _that_?" She growled fiercely, grabbing America by the arm and dragging her to the mirror.

Then, with a disgusted look at the shirt Al was wearing, she wrestled the other girl out of it, tugging down the pants at the same time. It was like one of Prussia's lesbian pornos, except that Lovina steered clear of Al's rather impressive cleavage and kept her own clothing on.

America allowed her to do this, frowning the whole time.

"Okay," Lovina huffed, once Al was down to her underwear in front of the mirror, "what do you see?"

Al obediently turned her eyes to the mirror, studying herself carefully. She arched an eyebrow and sent Romana a glance using the mirror.

"Uh, myself," she replied, crinkling her face with confusion.

The half-nation rolled her eyes, "Well, _of course_. If you must know, what _I _see is a very pretty girl." She said it with a blush, one that encompassed her entire face, but the point was to make America really believe that she was pretty—and could be even prettier if she actually tried.

"Really?" Al asked eagerly, face lighting up.

Swallowing down rage at the thought that anyone told her differently, Lovina just nodded firmly, crossing her arms.

"Now we just have to get you into acceptable clothes," she sniffed, "and I can be seen in public with you."

America beamed, and pointed to the open closet.

"Welp, all my clothes are over there," she told Romana. "I don't know if they're any good, though…"

She trailed off, frowning again, and Lovina rolled her eyes. The idiots she was surrounded with would probably give her eye problems later in life, but whatever. Now it was time to go shopping.

"We're going to have to go shopping," she announced, dragging Al by the arm to the door and completely ignoring the closet. "I need some real clothing to work with."

Al agreed excitedly, bobbing her head, and a sudden idea struck Romana.

She smiled triumphantly, pulling out a hotel key card from her purse. America blinked at it for a moment, giving Romana a questioning look.

"What's that for?" She asked.

"It's Spain's hotel key," Lovina explained, feeling strangely mischievous. "He, kindly, is going to provide the money for our little shopping trip."

Al's eyes widened, and she bit her lip.

"Are you sure that's okay, Lovi? I wouldn't want to make him angry." She said. Romana just shook her head.

"We'll just go to his room, take his wallet, and it'll all be dandy! Antonio has a separate credit card for whenever Feli and I want to go shopping, so we can both sign for it. Besides," she continued smugly, leading Al from the room, "you'll look so hot by the time I'm done with you that he'll be _proud_ to have sponsored our shopping trip."

The other nation still looked hesitant, but nevertheless followed Lovina to the room. They opened it to find that it was surprisingly clean, except for a bottle of wine (courtesy of France, if the rose and envelope sitting by it was any indication) and a single towel. His bed was also unmade, but that was unsurprising considering how much the Spanish nation slept. Romana would be more startled that he was actually awake at this hour if she didn't know that Prussia and France came to drag him out of bed whenever they could in order to get as drunk as possible before the meetings.

That usually resulted in, of course, Germany hunting them down (and briefly abandoning her idiot of a brother to sleep in the potato bastard's bed) _before_ they could do so (sometimes with England's help, depending on how bad his hangover was from the night before) and single-handedly taking Prussia down while ignoring France's attempts to molest him (unless France was conveniently distracted by England) and Spain's daft giggling.

She rolled her eyes at the _thought_ of it and took Spain's wallet from where it was resting on his bedside table. Al, weirdly enough, stood in the middle of the room and _blushed_ like a fucking idiot (which she was).

"What?" Lovina deadpanned, glancing around to see if Antonio had left any of his stupid underwear lying about.

"N-nothing," Al stuttered, avoiding her gaze and flushing an even deeper rose color. Lovina huffed, _of course_ the American nation blushed all_ attractively_ and not tomato-like _at all_. Not that she was jealous or anything, 'cause Lovina was _hot_. Like, super-mega-fucking-hot if she had anything to say for herself.

"Sure it's nothing," Romana said disbelievingly. "Whatever, I'll grill you later. Now, we've got to go."

Al nodded and stumbled after her out of the tomato bastard's room. Lovina didn't bother leaving a note. Antonio probably wouldn't even notice his wallet's absence until the world meeting when Lovina would give it back to him. The moron.

They walked back to the mall, America humming beside her happily. It was silent, for once, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was… nice. Lovina didn't have many people she could be _comfortable_ with like this.

They arrived at the mall, and Lovina dragged Al in, taking her straight to a store she'd seen the other day and new had cute clothing. They weren't here to waste time.

"Alright, let's get going," she started, shuffling through some hanging clothes already, "we'll just buy one or two outfits for today and I'll take you shopping _for real_ in Rome."

Al's face lit up at that, and Lovina reddened at what she just implied—that Al was coming to visit her after the world meeting.

The younger nation immediately threw her arms around Romana, squeezing her tight (_too_ tight, Romana couldn't breathe properly), and squealing.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She shrieked at a ridiculous level, oblivious to the stares from the Irish citizens in the store. "I've never been _invited_ anywhere like that, not really!"

The Italian nation felt herself smile reluctantly at the thought that she just made America so happy, but she still shoved the other girl off of her harshly, scowling. There was no time to be sappy.

"Whatever," she muttered, reaching for another shirt, "don't be all weird now, _stramba_."

Al just grinned and said, "I won't, Lovi~!"

She reminded Lovina, annoyingly enough, of her brother. But not so, because Al was at least a _fraction_ more intelligent than Feliciano and didn't even talk about hamburgers as much as Lovina expected. It was refreshing, at the very least, to speak with another girl.

She handed Al some button downs that were appropriate for the meeting, along with skirts that were both stylish and business-like, and a few jackets to go with them. Lovina eyed the shoes on the other side of the store and vowed to take America there next, along with some basic jewelry.

Feeling satisfied with her choices, Lovina sat down on one of the cushy couches and waited for her… _friend_ to exit the dressing room.

"Hurry up, _idiota_, we don't have all day," she called, studying the bright red color of her nails, something she'd done last night.

"Mm-hmm," Al said back, rustling coming from behind the curtain. Some people who worked at the store tried to approach them, but Lovina warded them off with her unfriendly glare and Al just waved awkwardly.

The Irish seemed to get the point and kept their distance. They weren't nearly as pushy as Americans (or Italians, but only _northern_ Italians, of course).

Al came out wearing some kind of ensemble of the things Lovina handed her, and the older nation rolled her eyes at the other girl's inadequacy at this. She should have known that this would happen.

Herding Al back into the dressing room, Lovina went for the skirt first, which looked bad anyways. Cut Al up in all the wrong places. The shirt wasn't so bad, though, very simple and white—sheer, though, so in order to wear it and not look like a total slut, Al would need an undershirt. That could be done.

Lovina unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off, holding it up.

"I like how this looks on you, but first put on that undershirt," she said, pointing to a white cami with a lace neckline and fringe. "And this skirt looks disgusting, try out that black pencil skirt instead."

Al smiled at her, luckily not bothered by Romana's pushiness (and the fact that she undressed her _again_), obeying her orders without a second thought.

"You got it!" The "heroine" replied, pulling on the cami, then the button-up, and finally the skirt. Lovina turned her around and adjusted each piece until she was satisfied.

"That's how you should wear it," she told Al smugly. "With the shirts tucked into the skirt and the buttons only done until the top."

She grabbed one of the jackets—black, like the skirt, and the same material, with ruched sleeves and a shortened body. It was cut perfectly for the high-waisted skirt.

"Put this on," she ordered. Al did so without complaint, reaching up to button the one round, gold button in the middle.

"I like it," Al said, with a small, surprised smile. "It looks good."

Lovina fluffed her hair, feeling smug again, "Of course it does, I picked it out."

America turned to her with a giant grin, and embraced her again, much to the Italian's irritation (and, okay, slight happiness).

Pushing her away again, Lovina said, "Well, it's _okay_. Needs a little color, though, so we'll have to get you some sexy shoes and maybe a scarf or earrings…" She trailed off, muttering the last bit in Italian.

Al tried on the rest of the clothing, and in the end they went with the first outfit plus one more skirt—this time white with a purple stripe on the bottom—and a less business-like top, one that highlighted Al's curves and small waist perfectly. It, too, was purple, and the white sweater they got to match it looked wonderful.

All in all, it was a very successful, quick shopping trip, as they also found two pairs of shoes, a scarf to spice up the first outfit, and enough jewelry to put a rather large dent in Antonio's savings. Of course, those savings also included some money that Lovina herself had made, as well as some from when Feliciano decided to run a bakery for a short while, so she didn't feel bad at all.

They had fun, too, and Al convinced Lovina to buy a red dress that looked absolutely _stunning_ on her, in a very sexy way, as well as a new necklace. The people at the store were very happy with the amount of money spent, so when Romana suggested that Al change in the dressing room, there were no arguments.

Lovina was proud, extremely proud, of how, quote unquote, _awesome _Alianora looked in her new clothing, especially since the meeting was very soon. Quickly, before they had to leave, she dragged the American back to the hotel and to her and Feliciano's room.

Her brother was missing, probably because Germany had already come by to pick him up. Because Feliciano was an idiot and Germany was a potato bastard, it usually took them about 20 minutes to make it to the meeting. In her experience, her _fratellino_ often got distracted by things like pretty women (Lovina didn't know _why_ because Feli was so _obviously _gay for the potato bastard…), food, kittens, puppies, or trying to get Germany to kiss him that he completely forgot where they were going, ran off to somewhere else, and generally made a nuisance of himself. One thing the potato bastard was good for, at least, was getting Feliciano to the meetings on time.

She did Al's makeup, mostly because she wanted to. She didn't use too much—this wasn't a night on the town, it was a business meeting—but she did make Al wear a little mascara, some eye shadow, and nice, pink lipstick. Lovina was kind of jealous of the other girl's absolutely flawless skin (even countries went through that awkward phase where sometimes pimples popped up) until Al complimented _her_ skin, and then it was all okay.

"There," she said, finally entirely satisfied with Al's appearance, "you look perfect."

And it was true—the outfit with the royal blue high heels (not too high, mind you, for Al warned her that she would have trouble walking in them if they were too high) coupled with a matching blue and black scarf and some gold jewelry looked great. The blue was a good choice, Lovina thought, because it really made America's eyes pop.

Lovina herself looked quite nice, too, wearing some new jewelry as well and, choosing to forego her normal uniform so that Al wouldn't stand out too much, she wore instead a light pink dress (reminiscent of her days under Spain's control, not that she would ever, _ever_ admit it), fitted to look very professional. It was one of the more comfortable things in her wardrobe, but she managed to pull it off with a business-like air because of her practical accessories and because Lovina Vargas never dressed anything less than absolutely fashionable. As long as she didn't look frumpy in any way, she be fine for the meeting. Now, though, she could walk beside someone who looked (almost) as good as her. (Lovina was unwilling to admit that anyone could ever look _as_ good as her, and Al didn't really care either way. It was the best kind of friendship that either girl could have asked for.)

"Are you ready for this?" Romana asked, brushing one last curl into place with a smirk. She'd insisted on doing Al's hair as well, which now sat softly and tamely on her shoulders, brushed to perfection. The curls shone in the light and the only piece that had slipped through Lovina's precise handling was the ahoge. After tweaking it once and reading the reddened, embarrassed look on the other girl's face, Lovina had figured it out easily enough (having one untamable curl herself ) and avoided it for the rest of their session.

"I guess so," Al said, starting to lose her confidence as time went on. "The others won't think this is weird?"

Lovina raised an eyebrow at her. "Uh, you look hot," making Al blush, "so they better not. I'll kick their ass."

"You look pretty too," America complimented back. "I'll beat up anyone who says otherwise, 'cause I'm the heroine!"

She punched the air with one fist, just like that rebounding from her earlier doubt. Lovina kind of wished that she had the other nation's energy, but then she'd probably be annoying and stupid like Al, too. Couldn't have that happening.

"Time to go," she mumbled instead. The blonde followed her out of her room, and they made their way down the stairs and toward the meeting place.

By pure luck they didn't run into a single nation on the way there (Lovina wanted to make an entrance and insisted that Al hide with her should they see someone else), and about five minutes after the meeting should have started (everyone knew that the meeting wouldn't _actually _start until 10:30 because of all the stragglers and the arguments and all that) they were ready.

"Let's go!" Al exclaimed happily, this time clutching _Romana's_ arm and taking her into the chaotic room ahead.

Spain woke up that morning feeling vaguely… exhausted. Lately, he was always tired in some way, but today was the first day that he was glad for it—he could probably sleep through the meeting like Greece and no one would notice. Well, except for Lovina, but his adorable little tomato wouldn't wake him up. Scoff at him, yes, but she'd be far too tired herself, hopefully, to ridicule him.

Sleepily, Antonio glanced around his room, spotting the reason for his early awakening. As usual, Francis stood over the end of his bed, face serene as he watched the Spaniard dream.

Over the years, Antonio's self-preservation skills kicked in whenever Francis decided to do something like this and wake him up _before_ at nation of _amor_ could molest him into wakefulness. Admittedly, the first time Francis did such a thing Antonio hadn't woken up until Lovina walked in on the other nation feeling up his ass and screamed bloody murder.

"_Buenos días, mi amigo_!" He greeted France, receiving a warm smile in return.

"_Bonjour, mon ami_." Francis returned smoothly. "It is time to wake up, Antonio. We have things to see, people to do, the usual!" He clapped his hands and threw open the curtains in Antonio's hotel room, sending bright sunlight across the Spaniard's face.

Never one to whine, Antonio yawned and stretched until he felt content and hopped out of bed, mostly naked except for his boxers. Francis let out a small chuckle of appreciation, taking a seat on the bed and placing a bottle of wine on the floor.

"For later, _chéri_," he told Spain, winking. Antonio smiled back, happy to have something to look forward to when he was alone in his room later on.

Or, perhaps, he thought as he dressed, he could invite his _tomate mona _and her adorable little brother over for some. Yes, he would do that.

"Is Gilbert coming?" He asked, pulling on a relatively unwrinkled button down. Francis eyed his clothing choice, a tad put off, but he didn't say anything, for which Spain was appreciative.

"_Oui_, but he must escape from his brother first, of course," France flipped his hair and studied his nails like a teenage girl, only more… professionally. Spain wasn't entirely sure, even now, after all the time they'd spent together (_centuries_, at this point) how Francis managed to be both girlish and completely manly at the same time, but it seemed to work for the ladies (and the men) just fine, so he must be doing _something_ right.

Usually all Antonio had to do to get someone to spend the night with him was _smile_ at them. Not that he noticed.

Antonio smirked at the thought of dear Prussia's predicament with his strict brother. "_Por supuesto_," he answered.

Finished with pulling on his pants and shoes, he skipped off to go brush his teeth and mess with his hair. Francis came up behind him in the mirror while he worked, pressing his chest against Spain's back in a mock embrace.

"You look wonderful today, Antonio," France commented, almost casually. Spain laughed.

"_Querido_, I _always _look wonderful to you," he replied. France chuckled at that and released him.

They made for the door, Antonio briefly wondering if it was a good idea to leave his wallet lying on the table, but then deciding that he didn't really care that much. The only people who would think to use it were Lovina and Feliciano, and what were the odds that either of them would go shopping at this hour? Feli, no doubt, was still sleeping, or would be spending time with Germany. Lovina would want to be sleeping as well, or, possibly, searching for some ripe tomatoes.

Antonio giggled at the thought of his cute little Lovi eating a tomato. Francis, seeing the look on his face and correctly interpreting it as Spain thinking of Romana, wisely decided not to ask.

They made it downstairs without running into England (which would have impaired France), Germany (which would have impaired the impending Prussia), or anyone who might have distracted or dragged Spain away.

All in all, it was more successful than many of their previous attempts.

Gilbert leapt out at them suddenly from behind the wall next to the elevator, but both Francis and Antonio were so used to his random appearances that they did not react at all. (Well, France automatically groped Gilbert's ass when he fell in line next to him, but _that_ was nothing new. It was how France said hello.)

"_Kesesese_, now that I have escaped _meine bruder_, we can do awesome things together!" He exclaimed, slapping Antonio on the shoulder in greeting and groping Francis right back. It was their special communication, this cycle of sexual perversion. They all loved it so much… although perhaps Antonio less than the other two and Francis most of all.

And so they began their daily ritual of stalking the halls and searching for nations to harass, exploit, and molest, all with the added bonus of watching out for England or Germany while they were at it. Switzerland too, because he was _scary_ with those guns.

"Oh, _Matthieu~_!" France called when he saw his "little brother" wandering around, looking quite invisible. Gilbert recognized him too, and dashed over to grope him. Spain straggled behind a little, not as familiar with this person who looked a lot like America (except male) and faded out of existence sometimes.

"Oh, hello Francis, Prussia, Spain," this _Matthew_ replied, bobbing his head shyly. Antonio was kind of taken with him, as he _was_ quite cute.

"_Hola_, Matthew!" He said with a large smile, cheerful at the thought that he might make a new friend today.

Matthew smiled weakly, batting away Francis' wandering hand as the older nation pulled him into a tight embrace. Obviously, he'd had a lot of experience with France in the past, for he seemed to know all the moves the other nation was going to make even before he did them. It was impressive, in Antonio's opinion.

"I'm Canada, if you, er, didn't know that," Matthew told him helpfully, for Spain _hadn't _known.

"Oh, of course!" He responded joyfully. "Canadia!"

"Birdie here makes the awesomest pancakes," Gilbert explained, slapping Matthew hard on the shoulder. "Really. They're almost as awesome as me."

Francis pulled Matthew even closer, nuzzling him. "_Oui_, he gets his wonderful cooking skills from me, naturally! And he even knows fluent French!"

Canadia finally managed to pull away from France's hug-grope-molest-y thing, gently pushing the older nation away in order to give himself some personal space. Unsurprisingly, he then found himself with an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders courtesy of Gilbert.

"Whatcha' say, Birdie, make us some pancakes right now?" Prussia "suggested," purring into Matthew's ear. Matthew shuddered and tried to back away, wishing with all his heart that for once he was invisible again.

"E-eh?" He stuttered, completely taken aback. "I suppose if you want… I could make you breakfast."

His voice was really quiet, Antonio thought. Like, whisper-quiet. Sometimes, he could barely catch what the young nation was saying. From what he remembered, though, this _Canadia _was the other part of the North American continent. America's twin.

America. America was pretty. She didn't dress very nicely but… she could be so _cute_ with those big blue eyes and soft-looking hair. Spain kind of wanted to squeeze her cheeks, too, which never seemed to have lost a layer of baby-fat. They were usually pink from all her running and jumping around… ah, America. America the beautiful, for sure. Not that Antonio would ever tell her that, because England constantly reminded them all that the girl didn't need her ego inflated any more.

He daydreamed, standing there and listening with one ear to the increasingly one-sided conversation between Gilbert and Matthew and Francis' little perverted chuckles on the side. His dreaming, however, prevented him from hearing _both _Germany and England's approach.

Unfortunately for them, neither did Prussia or France, and thus the two nations were caught.

"_Frog! _Release Mark this instance!" England shrieked, face turning a spectacular shade of puce that actually looked kind of attractive on him, if one found bushy eyebrows and a scowl attractive (Francis obviously did, if the look on his face suggested anything).

"I-it's _Matthew_," Canadia stammered quietly, liberated from his prison by an enraged Germany who snatched Prussia up with ease.

England nodded and said soothingly, "Yes, of course, er, Matthew. That's what I said."

Francis latched onto him then, and Arthur was gone. "_Mon cher_, you should not forget _Matthieu's_ name! He has my hair, _non_? How could you forget someone who is almost as gorgeous as me?" His arm found its way around England's waist then, making the man bristle like a peeved cat, and the beating and yelling began.

Spain stopped paying attention and briefly focused on poor Gilbert and Ludwig, who were locked in an _extremely_ one-sided yelling match.

"I told you to stay in the room! You weren't even supposed to be at this meeting, _bruder_!" Germany was shouting at a very shamefully unapologetic Gilbert.

"Whatever," Prussia muttered. With that, Germany dragged him away, probably to their room for more yelling and then some make-up wurst. Spain snickered. Gilbert was always getting pushed around by his younger brother.

Waving goodbye to the space where Canadia used to be (he simply assumed that the other nation had disappeared into space once again), Antonio took off to find some breakfast (preferably including tomatoes), Lovi and Feli, and possibly a nice place to curl up for a nap.

Ah, he thought, that would be the life.

He made it to the breakfast room at the hotel without any trouble, humming as he went, and then he promptly ran into Feliciano and Ludwig, the latter cooling down from his fuming temper from before.

"Ah, _buenos días_, Feli~!" He sing-songed, grabbing the adorable Italy into a hug. Feli immediately hugged him back.

"Ve~, Spain! How nice it is to see you! Don't you think it's nice, Germany!" Feliciano exclaimed, holding Antonio close.

Germany cleared his throat briefly, eyeing their hug with slight disapproval, and answered, "Of course, Italy. Good morning, Spain."

Spain's eyes sparkled with mischievousness. "Good morning to you as well, Germany! Tell me, how is _mi amigo_ Gilbert this morning?"

Germany pursed his lips. "He would be better," he grumbled, making Italy lean away with fear, "had he not left the room. I told him to stop doing that, but as usual, he never listens."

"Well," Antonio sighed, "you know Gilbert! He loves trouble!"

Ludwig nodded sourly in agreement. Feliciano let out a small hum and grabbed both their hands.

"I'm hungry!" He cried predictably, pulling Germany and Spain with him to the buffet line. "I hope there's pasta!"

Germany suppressed a face-palm, it was obvious from the way his feature _twitched_ just so. "I doubt there will be pasta, Italy, but you will make do." He barked.

Spain giggled, bringing a hand to his face. Oh, they were so _cute_! And so _in love_! Antonio wished he could be in love like that, except hopefully he would notice it so that he could have sweet kisses and hand-holding.

Not that they didn't have that already. From what he gathered from Lovina's rants, Feli often appeared naked in Germany's bed for no reason, was always kissing him on the cheek in greeting, and often held his hand when they did things together. Just thinking about it made Antonio's heart lift. Now, if only _Lovina_ had someone like that for her. She'd be so much more _smiley_. It would be so cute!

With those thoughts in mind, he got breakfast and ate with Italy and Germany, commenting every so often between Italy's endearing babbling and Germany's short, useful remarks.

Then, Germany decided it was time for him and Feli to start walking to the meeting (they had to leave a certain amount of time earlier because of Feli's attention span and inability to correctly read the atmosphere), so Spain decided to tag along. It was much more fun to be with friends than it was to be alone!

He would have waited for France and Prussia, but he had a feeling Prussia had retired to his room until the meeting actually came to a start. Then, of course, he would jump out at the last minute from underneath Austria's chair and scare them all, making Ludwig yell again and Austria get into the fight with Gilbert and Hungary slam her terrifying pan into all of their heads. France, naturally, would be held off by England. They were probably working out a little bit of their sexual tension right now, or at least, Francis would be _trying_. Until England got that stick out of his ass, Antonio doubted his poor _amigo_ would get anywhere with the other man.

He pouted at that thought, and by then they had made it to the meeting room, relatively on time (which relieved Germany to no ends). Only Austria and Switzerland were already there, and the two chatted comfortably even though Switzerland was usually kind of an asshole to anyone who wasn't his cute little sister and Austria was generally a stuck up prick.

Oh, well, they had to be at least vaguely friendly _sometimes_, he supposed.

Speaking of vaguely friendly people…

"Feli, where is your sister?" He asked, frowning unhappily because he had not seen her pretty face all morning.

Feli brightened with interest, "Oh it's so funny, Antonio! This morning she and America went off together!"

Spain blinked. _Romana and America?_ It couldn't be! The two girls were too different! But if it were true…

"How _cuuuuuute!_" He squealed, bouncing in his seat. Germany sent him a weirded-out look, but Italy seemed to agree.

"Isn't it, ve~?" Feliciano concurred dreamily. "Lovi has a female friend! And they're both so pretty! Ve~, Germany, don't you think they're both pretty?"

Obviously unwilling to disagree with the love of his life, Germany blushed and tugged on his collar, stiff and formal in his seat. It made Antonio giggle because… well, it was _cute_ to see Germany this way, all uncomfortable when the man was usually so put-together.

"I, er, suppose they are both rather, uh, _nice_-looking," Germany agreed awkwardly. It was no secret that Lovina spent most of her time insulting him and spitting out various curse words in his direction (she was so adorable when she was angry!), and that America, because of her often childish, hyper ways, bothered him, but Ludwig couldn't disappoint Feliciano. Internally, there was a rainbow of happiness that Spain was dancing under at all the cuteness radiating throughout the room.

Italy seemed content with Germany's response and latched onto him with a "_Ve~!_" of delight. Spain chuckled at the expression on Germany's face. He saw Austria roll his eyes and Switzerland look away with a scoff, but ignored them both. Party poopers, he thought with a pout.

The other nations slowly filed in, all in various states of chaos. France and England made an appearance with Northern Ireland following uneasily behind, and Japan showed up with a sleepy Greece in tow and an irritated Turkey following him. Spain spotted Prussia sneaking in as well, narrowly avoiding a suspicious Hungary when he made his move to hide under the table.

Gilbert curled against Antonio's legs, and the Spaniard gently touched his friend with his foot. He received a long-fingered hand stroking his ankle tenderly in response, as well as a perverted little giggle as it climbed further up his leg. Luckily, no one else heard the giggle or they surely would have recognized it.

When almost everyone was there, Russia coming in with Lithuania and Estonia behind him, shaking nervously, Germany stood up to count heads and figure out who was missing.

"Only America, Scotland, South Italy, and Denmark," Ludwig muttered. Spain heard him and perked up. Where was Lovina (and, presumably, America)?

He turned his attention to the door, and five minutes after ten, it opened again to reveal Lovina, who looked as beautiful as ever, and… America?

His eyes widened. She looked… different, and certainly not in a bad way. It's not that she wasn't pretty before, because she _was_ but right now… she looked _great_. Seriously. All those sweet curve he knew she had but he never saw were carefully covered by the outfit so that she remained professional, but weren't concealed by baggy t-shirts and loose jeans. Some other nations claimed she was "fat" or, at least, "chubby," but he'd always doubted it. (That one time Spain had seen her exiting a hotel room in her bathing suit might have something to do with it.)

Nevertheless _now_ they couldn't claim she was fat at all. She had on a little makeup, more than usual, but not too much, and was wearing a well-fitted skirt and jacket combination with high heels that, when he checked as she walked by, made her ass look _great_. Of course, all of this was probably Lovina's doing, if the smug look on his _tomate's_ face was anything to go by.

She had real reason to be smug, though, for, aside from looking stunning herself in that _cute _pink dress, she had accomplished what many could not—she'd actually made England's mouth drop open in shock.

America clung to Romana anxiously, that much Antonio could tell, but she still held her head high with confidence. The fact that she hadn't announced her heroic presence right away, however, gave away her slight insecurity. It made Antonio's heart melt a bit at the thought of the American nation's wavering ego. He _knew_ she wasn't as aggressively confident as Britain made her out to be. Take that, Arthur.

And boy did the other nations _stare_. Lovina's expression grew increasingly satisfied at their shock, and America got more and more nervous. Lovina, though, seemed to notice and took America's hand, squeezing it briefly. It made Antonio _coo_ out loud at the _adorableness_ of that gesture.

Gilbert tugged at his leg, "What, what is it?"

"It's America and Romana," Spain whispered back, his eyes still on the pretty nation.

"America and Romana?" Gilbert questioned, head popping up between Antonio's legs and turning to catch the superpower in his sights. "Damn, they look hot."

Spain was inclined to agree.

"Ve~, America, Lovi come sit over here!" Feli suddenly called, waving his sister and her _friend_ over. France and England's heads snapped around to follow America as she walked, relieved, towards Italy.

"Thanks, Italy," she said warmly when she got there, taking one of the free seats near him and letting Romana sit next to Antonio.

Lovina rolled her eyes, but sat down next to Spain regardless, giving the rest of the room an unimpressed glance.

Antonio leaned in closer to whisper, "You look very pretty today, _mi tomate_."

She didn't even get nearly as angry as normal, although irritation did flash across her face at the nickname.

"Hmph," she grunted. "America does too."

Spain nodded eagerly in agreement, now leaning even further across Romana to get to America.

"Yes, _América_, you look lovely today as well," he wished he'd had the chance to tell her that he _always_ thought she looked lovely, but now was as good a time as any. America immediately flushed bright, bright red. Almost redder than Lovina, except instead of turning into _un tomate,_ she became more… magenta. Like a strawberry.

_Mm_, strawberries. _Fresas_. He _liked_ _fresas_.

"Um, t-th-thank you," America stuttered out, flustered. England frowned, from across the room, but Francis' eyes gleamed approvingly.

Then America looked between his legs and _shrieked._ Needless to say, the meeting when downhill from there.

* * *

><p><strong>Italian<strong>

_Stramba - feminine form of strano, or weirdo (sorry I got that wrong in the last chapter... :() _

_Idiota - feminine form of idiot_

_Fratellino - younger brother_

**Spanish**

_Buenos dias - good morning_

_Mi amigo - my friend_

_Tomate mona - feminine form of cute tomato_

_Por supuesto - of course_

_Querido - my dear_

_Hola - hello_

_Fresas - strawberries_

**French**

_Bonjour - good morning/hello_

_Mon ami - my friend_

_Mon cher - my dear_

_Non - no_

_Cheri - darling_

_Oui - yes_

**German**

_Meine bruder - my brother (not sure if "bruder" is supposed of be capitalized or not, so I'm extremely sorry if I got this wrong)_

_As always, please correct me if you believe or know that I am wrong with anything. Also, if you find the random not-English words really annoying, please mention it. I've seen plenty of other authors do it, but I can't really tell when I'm overdoing it, so please mention it if you think that is the case. Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!_


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